


Close Your Eyes and Make a Wish

by MarcarellaPizza



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Cancer, Character Death, Gen, Katsuki Yuuri and Victor Nikiforov are Yuri Plisetsky's Parents, PLEASE READ NOTES FOR MORE INFORMATION, Sad, Sad Ending, yuri is a very strong boi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 14:27:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21210062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarcarellaPizza/pseuds/MarcarellaPizza
Summary: The door is shut quickly once they’re sure that he’s resting comfortably, and Yuuri reaches to take Viktor’s hands gently, refusing to pay attention to the shaking.“But… I thought only women…”“No Vitya.” There’s a sad smile on Yuuri’s face, “Boys too.”





	Close Your Eyes and Make a Wish

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I know, I'[ve been writing some incredibly sad stories the past few days but fear not, I promise an incredibly happy one next!  
Before I begin though, I'd like to go into a little more depth in regards to the warnign tags:
> 
> Character Death:  
\- Yuri does die in this story, if this is somethign triggering then please don't read it for your own sake!
> 
> Cancer:  
\- Cause of death is cancer, so again, avoid if need be  
\- I'm in no way trying to romaticise this, instead I'm trying to spread awareness for breast cancer in men as it isn't often spoken for  
\- Some terminology may be wrong, some medical facts may not line up with your own experiences, I am not trying to be insensitive; I am going off of my own experiences with family who've been through this and my memory does not serve well.  
\- That being said, if there are things you'd like corrected, please let me know and I'll do my absolute best

“I wish you’d stop nagging me! Fuck’s sake!” Yuri yells to Viktor, a skate stubbing into the ice. He’s still pretty immature for a 17 year old, but nowhere near as angsty as he was three years ago. The change of scenery from St Petersburg’s ice rink to Hasetsu could be the reason for this, or, as the older Yuuri liked to tease; he’d  _ matured _ . Somewhat.

Viktor merely shrugs in that noncommittal, totally not concerning for a coach, sort of way, deciding he’d had enough of pestering Yuri for his sloppy footwork for the next season’s programs. He instead chooses to beckon the younger over to where he and Yuuri are standing, and Yuri, more than eager to quit after 6 hours of practice, follows.

“I suppose tomorrow we’re gonna have to fix that posture of yours, Yuri!” Viktor grins, a finger in place over his lips as he visibly considers his suggestion. “I do believe that I’ve seen a straighter leg in a gayer man.” He manages to dodge the oncoming punch as Yuuri scolds him.

“Whatever. Otabek is coming here in a couple months and we’re gonna get back at the both of you for all the gross torture you’ve put me through.” He tilts his head to flick hair out of his face, snapping his eyelids shut as he feels the tips wip into his line of sight

“Sure Yura, you can one up us in all the romance.” Viktor snorts disbelievingly. Yuuri slaps his husband’s arm playfully. “What?”

Yuri scrubs his eyes and blinks, rolling the organ experimentally before hissing in annoyance. There was  _ something  _ there, something like a spec of dirt, or a grain of sand, something that moved as he prodded the squishy sphere and remained glued to the corners of his sclera. He groans before squeezing his eye shut. A hand covering it as it  _ burns _ .

“You okay Yura?” Yuuri asks, taking note of the minor distress. Yuri eyes him, glaring as the stinging tears through his right eye, even while closed causing him grief.

“No. The fuck it look like?” He grits out, fingers scratching at his lids. He tries to open it but oh  _ lord _ , it’s involuntarily gushing with tears, and it  _ hurts _ when he tries to pry it open.

“Try washing it out in the bathroom, if not I’ll see if I can get it out.” Yuuri nods, a thumb jerking towards the door. Viktor’s face exchanges for concern.

“And don’t rub it; it’ll become swollen and—“

“I got it!” Yuri huffs, marching off. He forgets to shove his blade guards onto his skates but can’t find himself caring for the time being; his eye was hurting and whatever decided to make a home in his face needed to get  _ out _ .

Sadly, the water washing idea does nothing but alleviate the slightest of the pain, dribbling down his shirt in the way water loves to defy the laws of physics — or perhaps that  _ was _ one of the laws of physics. Either way, Yuri leaves the bathroom ten minutes later half drenched, half cold and in pain like the burning fires of hell have taken a massive dump on his eye.

“Still not out?” Viktor asks, assisting Yuri with his skate guards. The teen bends to support his weight on Viktor’s shoulder as he does this, his other hand clutching at his face in agony. Yuuri snaps an elastic into his hair before turning to him.

“No fucking shit!” Yuri hisses. He may be more lenient to accepting help from the gross lovey dovey skating couple, but he most certainly isn’t lenient towards stupidity.

“It’s okay, I can try getting whatever it is out.” Yuuri hums, gently removing Yuri’s hand from his face. He gently pinches the corners of the eye inward, an air pocket forming as the lid lifts slightly. Yuri sighs at the relief he’s momentarily given. “I’m going to flip your eyelid inside out okay? Then I’ll see if there’s—“

“Wait what the fuck?!” Yuri stops, pulling away instantly. Viktor stands to catch his balance, one eye and two skates clearly not mixing well together. “You flip my eyelid and I flip—“

“Yura, it’s fine.” Viktor says, for once unamused. “Though to be fair, I used to think it’d make you go blind—“

“The  _ fuck _ ?!”

“It doesn’t.” Yuuri sighs, staring at Viktor. “When I used contacts for skating, sometimes I’d flip my eyelid to help take them out.” Yuuri gently places his hands on Yuri’s face again. “It doesn’t hurt, it’ll make it easier to get whatever’s there.

Yuri reluctantly allows the Japanese man to prod at his face. It feels weird, and he doesn’t like it, his eyelid battling to flip back the right way round as Yuuri gently blows and pulls something off of his eyeball. After a few seconds of blinking, his vision returns to its normal state and he sighs, relieved.

“Finally!” He groans, testing his eye’s range of movement. When he found that nothing had hurt, he turns back, watching as Yuuri offers him something on his finger. A stupid, blonde eyelash.

“Make a wish Yura!” Yuuri smiles, the lash offered to him like it’s gold. It isn’t. It’s a piece of shit. And Yuri wants to burn it in a fire.

“Ew what? Why’d I do that for?” He chooses to say instead, watching Yuuri insist with the hair.

“It's a popular superstition!” Comes Viktor’s explanation, surprisingly. “For all it’s worth come on! Make a wish and blow on the eyelash Yura!”

Yuri glares at the preposterousness of the situation. “Fine.” He gruffs out, arms folding crossly across his chest. “I wish that eyelashes could stop being a pain in the ass!” He blows on the curl and watches as it flies off, disappearing into the colours of their surroundings.

He feels oddly unsatisfied with that wish. 

“Alright then, let’s head home yes?” Yuuri changes the topic eagerly, hands clasped as he makes the proposition. 

“Sure. Whatever.” Yuri grumbles, already turning to sit at the bench and pull off his skates. Eyelashes be damned; they were stupid. Yuri slowly pulls his hair free from the makeshift do that Yuuri had done, careful to not let his hair smack into his sore eye.   
  
  


* * *

They sit around the dinner table and Yuri groans, rubbing the joint where his arm meets his torso. He knew he shouldn’t have attempted a quad in the last hour of practice, having been tired from an excessive amount of jumps already. He hadn’t thought he’d strained himself so badly, but apparently that wasn’t anywhere near the truth.

“This is a first.” Yuuri hums, handing him a heat pack. The added warmth helps to relax the muscles, dulling the ache numbly, it’s still a discomfort as he shifts.

“Yura’s just going through puberty.” Viktor teases, dodging the pillow aimed for his head. He catches it swiftly, dropping it onto the teen’s head, watching as Yuri grumbles from his spot on their couch.

Yuuri yawns, emulating the fatigue that everyone feels, sheepishly rubbing at his eyes blearily. “Well I’m going to bed…” He admits, body twisting towards the direction of the bedroom Viktor and he shared, “Yura, your room  _ is _ where your bed is so don’t fall asleep on the couch.”

Viktor follows Yuuri quickly, patting his thigh for Makkachin to follow. “You may as well turn in now.” he advises as Yuri grumbles, sighing as he heaves himself up, ache still lingering in his joints.

“Yeah sure whatever.” he moves to pass Yuuri, staring at his face. “You have…” he pauses to count, “four eyelashes on your face and like… one hanging off your eyelid, the fuck?” He walks off anyways without so much as a goodnight to either of his coaches. They know what he means when he slams the bedroom door shut.

“We should put wooden letters on the door.” Viktor suggests, helping Yuuri wipe away the offending hairs. Yuuri gently blows against each one, sending them flying away as he makes silent wishes. “We could paint them tiger stripes and spell out  _ Yuri’s Room _ . He’d like that don’t you think?”

Yuuri’s eyes flutter open, blinking rapidly as they focus in on Viktor’s face. “He’ll murder you.” He snorts, wrapping arms around his husband’s waist. Viktor’s arms return the gesture, holding Yuuri close to him. “He’s an angsty teenaged boy.”

“You mean  _ our _ angsty, teenaged son?” Viktor quips, pecking Yuuri’s lips. He pauses to study his face, a thumb caressing the bone of his cheek. It’s sentimental, and Yuuri turns his face toward the gentle touch to relish in the feeling, until Viktor hums, brushing the side of his nose. “I swear, how do you lose so many eyelashes and still have so many?”

“Another one?” Yuuri hums, watching it fall away from Viktor’s finger. He pouts, lip jousting outwards, “I didn’t get to make a wish.”

“I’m honestly a little envious.” Viktor rests his chin atop Yuuri’s head, the dark locks tickling his skin. “You’re so  _ pretty _ with your thick, dark lashes! Lord knows that’s what I could only ever dream for!”

“I like your lashes.” Yuuri pulls back a little, just enough to reach up and nudge his nose against Viktor’s, “They’re like silver, pure strands of rich silver.” Viktor hums again, tilting his head slightly to capture Yuuri’s lips with his own.

“You are honestly too good for me.” He says, finally breaking the tender embrace. With a hand, he grasps Yuuri’s own, thumb running over the wedding band resting on his ring finger. There’s a look of contentment in his eye, twinkling brightly as he finally leads them to the bedroom. 

“I beg to differ.” Yuuri replies, following.

“Begging hmm?” Viktor mumbles, an eyebrow raised. They hear a door open and grumbling, turning to see Yuri’s head poke through the doorway of his room.

“If you guys start fucking, I’m going to rip every single one of those godamn eyelashes and burn them with a lighter.” He hisses, door slamming for a second time,

Viktor grins as Yuuri turns beet red, gaping as he tries to find his words. “Quick, get naked Yuuri! If we’re loud then we can embarrass Yura!” When Yuuri turns to Viktor, horrified, he finds that his husband is already beginning the hasty process of stripping, tugging at Yuuri’s own pants as he goes.

“Vitya,  _ no _ !” Yuuri reprimands, hurrying to pull the discarded clothes back onto the crazed man. “Vitya get back here!”

There’s a high pitched screech that echoes from the second bedroom, and Yuuri already knows that he’s going to be purchasing something tiger related in compensation.   
  


* * *

Two weeks later, and Yuri can barely move his right arm, soreness of the joint now tender as he prods. “Stop poking it then.” Viktor simply says, as if that could solve all his problems. Yuri groans as he forces his arm up into a biellmann spin.

Yuri clutches at his chest, wheezing as he turns out of the spin, slowing to a stop as he gasps for air. The muscle of his pectoral throbs with the pain of the torn muscle in his shoulder, discomforting as it had been the first day.

“We’re taking you to the physio.” Yuuri says eventually, after having to bare witness to the rather terrible form of Yuri’s skating. Viktor frowns as he nods in agreement, beckoning for Yuri to get off the ice. 

It’s more worrisome that Yuri doesn’t protest as he usually would, having been determined to improve before the Grand Prix Finals. The final of all finals, the one where Yuuri would be competing for the last time.

“Sure, let’s get this shit over and done with so I can hurry up and stop feeling like death.” He massages the underarm of his right side, stomping off to remove his skates.

Viktor turns towards Yuuri, shrugging as he holds out a hand in invitation. “We probably won’t take too long, we can come back later and work on that Quad Loop of yours.” Viktor smiles, an arm draping behind Yuuri.

“You’re not letting go of that flub are you?” Yuuri groans, walking along with him. They patiently make their way to the rink entrance, waiting for Yuri to join them as they sit on the outdoor steps. Viktor shrugs his shoulders in answer, unbothered to hide the truth to that question. Yuuri grumbles and drops his head into the crook of Viktor’s neck.

“Alright loveshits, lets go.” Yuri calls out, jumping the last few steps in order to march ahead of them. They decide to take Viktor’s hot pink Cadillac, which is precariously parked beside the streetlamp two blocks away. For something so precious and dear, it didn’t receive such treatment this time round.

“We were late okay?” Viktor defends his horrid parking, unlocking the door with the sweep of his key. Yuri climbs into the back seat, grumbling at the soreness of his body as Yuuri offers an empathetic smile. Once everyone is safely inside, Viktor starts the car’s engine.

“Argh, god fuck!” Yuri eventually curses, a hand swiping at his face. “Why the fuck do stupid eyelashes fall off, the hell?”

“Don’t say the lord’s name in vain.” Yuuri scolds him, words forming as if on reflex. His grandmother would be proud.

“You’re not religious my dear.” Viktor reminds him. 

“I’m not going to get into the semantics of that.” Yuuri says slowly, “My beliefs are all muddled.”

“Fair enough.” Comes Viktor’s acceptance, “Someone say that a lot when you were young?”

Yuuri nods, head pressed against the window, “Grandmother. No idea why that stuck but ah well.” 

“Your eye doing better Yura?” Viktor calls out towards the back, watching the younger from the rear view mirror. From where he sat, he was rubbing his face, staring curiously at the lash balanced neatly on his fingernail. He hadn’t looked up and hadn’t seen Viktor’s wandering gaze.

“It’s only a stupid hair.” The car slows to a stop at a red light, Viktor nudging Yuuri before pointing towards the mirror. Sure enough, they both see Yuri in the back, closing his eyes and gently blowing the slither of gold.

Their smiles soften as Yuuri asks fondly, “Make a good wish?”. Upon realising he’d been caught, Yuri turns his head away, deciding to hide behind the curtain of hair on his head. They could still see the flush of red through the small gaps.

“I will decimate you at the Grand Prix.” Yuri declares, arms folding stubbornly, “That’s my wish.”

“Careful.” Viktor pipes up, “You shouldn’t tell us the wish or it won’t come true.” 

Yuri glared through the mirror. “I wish you’d shut up.”

Yuuri sighs, patting his husband’s thigh in consolation as Viktor pouts. “Be careful what you wish for Yura.” Yuuri warns him, “If you still want Viktor to buy you those concert tickets, he’s gonna need to talk you know.”

At that, Yuri widens his eyes, almost alarmed at the potential threat. But Viktor can only laugh, pausing as he registers what Yuuri had promised. “Wait… who said I was buying him tickets?”

* * *

The physiotherapist is  _ not _ happy which means that neither are Viktor, Yuuri and Yuri. “This isn’t a muscle problem.” She says slowly, a shake of her auburn hair. Yuri sits still as she gently squeezes and feels around the pained area.

“If it’s not muscle, then what is it?” Viktor decides to ask.

Matsune Keiko sighs, pushing back from her chair as she gestures for Yuri to redress himself. “I couldn’t say for certain… how long have you been feeling pain?”

“A couple weeks or so.” Yuuri replies for Yuri easily, worry lines creasing his forehead. “Should we go to a doctor then?” The woman pauses to think before deciding to nod slowly.

“Yea, I really think you should. There aren’t any signs of muscle stress… and if you’re saying you didn’t even realise you injured yourself then this could be something else.”

“Something else like what?” Yuri dares to speak up. His arms slip into the sleeves of his shirt as he fastens his hoodie back around himself. The physiotherapist can only sigh again.

“I’m not sure. The right pectoral is slightly swollen. Perhaps an underlying bone problem… nerves, infection… best case scenario gynecomastia. All treatable, of course but it’s best to get a doctor to look just in case.” They don’t ask what ‘just in case means’, too busy trying to work out when the next available appointment could be.

Yuri remains still, unphased towards the commotion. He’ll admit that he’s rather annoyed and agrees that seeking another professional as soon as possible is the smartest decision, but he knows that whatever’s up, it’ll be good and done with eventually.

“What the he— fudge,” He corrects himself hastily, already feeling Yuuri’s pensive stare at the back of his head, “is the guynecoma-whatsit anyway?” He’s curious, he’ll admit, and only wants to pass time.

“Gynecomastia?” The woman asks, “Well it’s excessive breast tissue in males forming due to estrogen outweighing the testosterone.” She explains. “You indicated pain near your underarm and pectoral so it explains the soreness. Considering you’re going through your adolescent stage it makes sense why it’s cropping up now and not before.”

“So it  _ is _ puberty!” Viktor calls out in delight.

“Shut up old git!” Yuri punches his shoulder. The offending whimper is not consoled this time as Yuuri shakes his head.

“I’m not able to diagnose it.” Matsune reminds them, frowning. “And I highly doubt it. I cannot stress that you take this to someone more educated in this matter.”

“Yes, we’ll be doing that.” Yuuri pipes up, a warning slipping into his tone as he eyes both his husband and namesake. “Thank you for your assistance Matsune-san.”

“It’s no problem.” The woman smiles, comforting as she moves to stand. “I do hope you feel better soon Pirisetsukii-san.” She chirps, accent fumbling over the surname as she begins moving towards the office door.

“Yeah, sure.” Yuri grumbles, taking it as his cue to surpass the adults as he leaves.    
  
  


* * *

The doctor is the family doctor that Yuuri has been visiting since he was an infant. He still can’t remember his name.

“You’re lucky I had a free slot today.” The man chuckles, inviting the group of three inside with a questioning smile. “This your son Katsuki-san?”

Yuri splutters, face reddening as Viktor bursts out into delighted laughter. It is Yuuri this time who slaps him. “Viktor behave!”

“No.” Yuri shrugs his shoulders, earning a confused look from the doctor, “They’re my new guardians, my old coach passed me to them for some terrible, inconceivable reason.”

“He’s joking.” Yuuri says quickly, “Yakov retired so we’re Yuri’s new—“

“Stand in parents!” Viktor nods enthusiastically, hands clapping like a child. “Isn’t our son so precious?!”

“Ignore them.” Yuri says bitterly, eyes rolling as the doctor nods bemusedly. It appears as though he understands something Yuri has overseen, and chooses to remain oblivious to as Viktor squirms in his seat.

“Alright then, so what can I help you with today?” 

Yuri sighs, moving to pull his hoodie off, hissing at the discomforted pressure in his chest. “We thought I pulled a muscle or some shit—“ he doesn’t bypass the swearing this time. This man is too familiar with Yuuri to receive special treatment, he is not some complete stranger. “But obviously I’m not as idiotic as the old man thinks I am.”

“I’m not old!” Viktor pouts, another, long and exaggerated sigh escaping Yuuri’s lips.

“Well it hurts here.” He points to the side of his arm, closer to his armpit than shoulder, “And physio recons pectoral is swollen too. She said it’s probably a.. guyana...comma…”

“Gynecomastia.” Yuuri helpfully interjects, Yuri jerking a thumb in his direction.

“Yeah. That.”

The doctor takes a moment to prod at the soreness again and repeat the same questions that Yuri had already had to answer once before. Then it moves to questions on family history; things Yuri sheepishly admits he doesn’t know.

Somehow Viktor and Yuuri  _ do _ . 

“Well of course we know, we’re your parents!” Viktor doges the elbow to the gut quickly. “That and Yakov passed on your records.”

“Did anything such as gynecomastia pop up?” The doctor asks as Yuuri shakes his head no.

“I’ve read it at least a dozen times… the only things listed was his grandfather on his mother’s side — prostate cancer and diabetes type 2… and uh… well…” Yuri wants to be surprised that Yuuri could possibly have devoted time to his own medical history. Things even  _ he hadn’t known _ due to having been raised by his grandfather.

The lingering sentence ruins any wonderment and awe he may have.

“The mother’s side — lots of um... A singular case in Yuri’s father’s side too.” Yuuri gestures to some part of his body, unsure how to communicate what he knows. The doctor seems to understand, despite only confusing Viktor and Yuri further, and an awkward tension arises as the new information is processed.

“Alright then, I think we need to set you up for a mammogram.” The doctor finally decides. His face is no longer cheerful and welcoming.

And like that, Yuri sees stars.

There’s a thump as hedrops to the ground from his chair.

Yuuri hurries to attend to Yuri, who currently lies on the floor unmoved. Viktor’s sudden “Oh my god!” Going unnoticed as both the doctor and his husband steady an incredibly disorientated Yuri.

Shock.

“Are you okay Yuri?” Yuuri asks gently, helping him sit in the space between Viktor and he. The two bodily presences help to ground his wariness.

“Fine.” He mumbles, blinking. “What the fuck just happened?”

“You blacked out for a second there.” Viktor explains, pulling Yuri to his side “Just relax, we’re almost done.” Yuri doesn’t pull away this time, instead, leaning into the motion as if on autopilot.

The doctor gives him one more look over before deeming it okay to continue. “I suggest getting this done immediately. If you hurry tomorrow morning they’ll be able to fit you in… I’m hoping it turns out alright but with the history and the soreness and the location…”

Yuuri nods as he bites his lip.

“Why would he need to go get one done?” Comes Viktor’s naive question as they’re ushered out of the clinic. Yuri is balanced against his back, arms slung around his shoulders as he dozes.

“What do you mean why?” Yuuri halts, assisting with unlocking the car as Viktor shifts Yuri again. “Viktor… Yuri might have…” he doesn’t finish the sentence, stepping aside to let his husband buckle the teen into the car.

Even with a growth spurt and longer limbs, Yuri is still short enough for Viktor to carry. The door is shut quickly once they’re sure that he’s resting comfortably, and Yuuri reaches to take Viktor’s hands gently, refusing to pay attention to the shaking.

“But… I thought only women…”

“No Vitya.” There’s a sad smile on Yuuri’s face, “Boys too.”

* * *

  
  


Yuuri recognises the machine from the times he’d been with his sister. It’s large, in an isolated space, and looks so foreign, like there’s no way that it’d fit anyone’s body.

He’s even had one once, for a better peace of mind, and he knows how uncomfortable and awkward and painful it is. He’s mentally booking another appointment for both Viktor and himself, once they’re given the all clear and can proceed to find out whatever the actual problem Yuri’s dealing with is.

Said boy stands, never once more uncomfortable in his life as he removes his shirt and is offered what looks like a plastic bag.

“We’ll do both pectorals as requested by your doctor.” The operator explains, gently waiting for Yuri to follow her towards the machine.

It’s tall, far taller than Yuri, and there are two clamps, suspended in between. He’s guided, prodded and shifted until his body is forced to conform to the odd angle, spine arching in order for the machine to reach him. 

The scans start, then they stop, then they start again before stopping — one done, another to go, and Yuri immediately feels the soreness of his right side as his chest is squeezed.

“He’s a healthy young boy.” Viktor states, the pair of them watching behind the safety of the room. “There’s no reason for him to have anything.”

“There aren’t any reasons for these things Vitya.” Yuuri shakes his head, “There’s no prevention method.”

Yuri grunts as the machine releases, allowing him to step away and back towards the safety of Viktor and Yuuri. The air is filled with so much depression he needs to seek the idiotic tendencies of others to fullfill himself.

“Like the new shirt Yura.” Viktor chirps, with so much vigor it seems fake. “So stunning.”

“It’s a trash bag.” Yuri snorts, accepting the false amusement greedily, “You're the one who should be in this, not me.”

Viktor feigns hurt, a hand pressed over his chest as he pretends to faint over Yuuri. “I’m wounded!” He cries, as the woman taking the X-rays gives him the okay to redress.

They don’t get to see the results, only the woman printing and observing them. And despite barely giving an answer through expressions, Yuri watches the light in her eyes die, taking his hope along with it.   
  


* * *

The phone call confirms everything and yet nothing at the same time. The doctor wants to see them, the doctor is pushing his appointments down to see him — there’s something wrong and the doctor needs to tell them.

Them, because Yuuri and Viktor are in this as much as he is.

Wrong, yet he’s already aware of the problem

Tell, despite already knowing.

“Have a seat.” The nameless doctor greets them with, no kind smile of reassurance to be found. It’s the first clue that there’s definitely bad news.

“The scans show an abnormally.” He reveals — the second clue, more forward than the last. Yuuri’s grip tightens in Yuri’s hold, and he can almost hear the Japanese man praying under his breath.

He’d chosen a religion after all.

“It’s most likely breast cancer.” The doctor confirms, the penny finally dropping, “We’ll do a biopsy to officially diagnose it.”

It’s positive.

It’s stage 3.

It’s the end.

* * *

  
  


Otabek doesn’t usually receive phone calls or messages, the exception of course being Yuri. But today, his phone is a constant buzz, draining battery as it alerts him of something important.

“You’re in the Grand Prix” he's met with when he answers JJ’s call. He frowns, shakes his head and opens his mouth to question the greeting of his ex-rinkmate.

“I didn’t make the cut this year.” He answers, confused.

“Your coach hasn’t told you? It’s all over the figure skating world —“ Otabek glances at his texts, eyeing the one from his coach that had been buried beneath the hundred or so others. “You’re in, so is Chulanont — it’s gonna be great!”

“Who… who dropped out?” He finds himself asking, frozen still with confusion.

“Y-you don’t know?” JJ questions, astounded, “Dude… they’re  _ your _ friends and you  _ don’t know _ ?” The accusation angers him, neither answering nor helping him understand. He politely excused himself, hanging up before scrolling through his messages.

Phichit.

_ ‘Yuuri isn’t answering, do u know what happened??????????? _ ’ it reads, followed by a surplus amount of spammed messages, most likely to get him to answer. Otabek ignores it momentarily, reminding himself to get back to the Thai skater, and flicks to his coach’s own messages.

‘ _ Katsuki Yuuri and Yuri Plisetsky have both pulled out due to unknown circumstances. You’re in, training resumes tomorrow morning’ _

His breath hitches in his throat, because suddenly everything is just so  _ wrong, wrong, wrong _ — his phone is rigging.

It’s an unknown number, area code Japan.

He answers without thinking and raises the device up to his ear.

“Otabek Altin?” Comes a heavily accented voice, there’s no mistaking who it is.

“Nikiforov?” Otabek asks.

“Yes, hi… I’m sure you’ve seen the news.” He begins with, and the dreaded feeling in his stomach drags on.

“I only just did… why did—“

“Yuri’s got… it’s… things are really hard right now… are you able to come to Hasetsu?” There’s a pregnant pause. He can’t tell  _ which _ of the two skaters he’s referring too, but judging by the fact that Viktor is calling  _ him _ ...

“Yes.” He says, already forming the apology text to his coach in his head. “I’ll leave immediately.”

* * *

  
  


He feels pathetic, led into a hospital knowing fully well that he may not walk out of it for a long time. He doesn’t want to live in a sterile room, absent from any sensible fashion choices and decor. 

There’s not a single stripe of tiger on the curtains or blankets or the hospital clothes; there aren’t any of the familiar smells from his grandfather’s cooking, the burning of Viktor’s toast or the sizzling of Yuuri’s katsudon. It’s chemical, stinging his senses with bitterness.

He pretends it’s all old news, he pretends he’s done this before, and for some parts, he has. Blood tests, vital checks, another mammogram and some new things, which he compares to other things he’s familiar with.

He’ll make it out, maybe not in time for the Grand Prix – he wants to be mad at Yuuri for having dropped out too but can’t blame his unnecessary anxiety – but just you wait, he’ll be back on the ice before VIktor’s first  _ truly _ grey hair.

On his first day, he’s introduced to a new doctor, another he doesn’t care to remember the name for since he knows it’ll only be temporary. Yuuri and Viktor are both with him, absorbing information and taking notes about words and medical terms his athletic career does not cover.

_ Alopecia, mastectomy, chemotherapy, lumpectomy _ ,  _ lymphadenectomy,  _ they’re long and complicated things, things he’ll have to eventually decide upon, but meaningless all the way.

“Tomorrow they’re going to be expecting an answer Yuri.” His namesake says softly. “We can help you decide which –”

“The quickest one.” He cuts in, determined, “The quicker this is over, the quicker we can move on and shit.” He rolls his eyes for extra emphasis, arms folded awkwardly as they avoid the IV drip in his arm.

Viktor and Yuuri share a look, not going unnoticed by Yuri who feels a lump form in his throat. “This isn’t… isn’t something so quick Yuri.” Viktor says gently. His face is all  _ wrong _ . It isn’t joking or laughing, or the playful scold whenever Yuri does something stupid. It’s plain, and sombre, and  _ horrifying.  _ “This affects your sur– survival rate.”

“Stop talking like I’m about to die.” Yuri gruffs out, eyes stinging as he averts his gaze. “Whatever you lovey-dovey saps thinks, is the best choice then. I don’t care, I’ll be fine.” He doesn’t feel so fine anymore.

“Well, there’s a suggestion.” Yuuri says slowly, sitting on the edge of Yuri’s bed. “A mastectomy, which includes a lymphadenectomy .” He clears his throat, “That is to say, they’ll be removing the right… breast tissue, and then some of your lymph nodes where the um… Hurt has spread too.” He doesn’t miss the way that Yuuri avoids saying it as it is, and he frowns, eyes daring to shoot a glare at the other in accusation.

“It’s cancer you fucking idiot.” He snaps, causing the two older skaters in front of him to jump, startled, “Don’t go around being a pussy because the word means death for some. I’m not some, I’m better than some and cancer isn’t gonna fuck me up! Got it!?”

They’re silent, the machines filling in the space with beeps and white noise as Yuuri nods his head frantically. “You’re right.” He agrees, “I’m being… an idiot. They’re suggesting a mastectomy and lymphadenectomy. The removal of your right breast tissue and some lymph nodes where the cancer has spread.”

It feels like a reluctant acceptance as the words are released into the air.

“Good.” Yuri nods, staring them both down. “Is that all they have planned?”

“No.” Viktor replies this time, lip bitten as he chooses his words, much to Yuri’s annoyance. He wasn’t going to die,  _ alright?  _ He’d appreciate the babying to stop — he wasn’t some porcelain matryoshka doll. “They want to undergo radiation therapy afterwards… to justify it’s all gone. But um, obviously there are side effects to this so…”

“Fine.” Yuri says, watching them blink rather stupidly.

“Fine?” Yuuri breathes, eyes wide.

“Fine.” Yuri repeats, shrugging his shoulders like it doesn’t matter— because it doesn’t, and he’ll prove it.

* * *

  
  


Otabek is given the address to a hospital the second he texts Viktor he’s arrived in Hasetsu. He doesn’t like the ward number, especially not after googling what type of patients are cared for there.

He sees the silver haired man, paler than usual with sunken eyes, bruised with the lack of sleep. He doesn’t speak, he offers the weakest camera-ready smile that Otabek has ever seen, and leads the way, down a corridor, up an elevator and towards an isolated room.

Viktor hasn’t once explained anything, seemingly waiting for Yuuri to do so as he greets them outside the door, a sadder smile on his face as Viktor enters the room. His heart sinks even further, the other Yuuri’s presence confirming who is indeed inside.

“Thank you for coming Otabek, I’m so sorry we cut into your training time—” 

“Fuck that.” Otabek says, catching the Japanese off guard with his harshness, “Yuri is more important… How… is he…”

“He’s resting.” Yuuri explains, being none the wiser in regards to skating. Honestly, skating was the last thing he wanted to do when he’d be wasting his own precious time with the teen. “He’ll be happy to see you when he wakes up, the surgery finished late last night.”

“What… what cancer?” Otabek decides to ask.

“Breast cancer.” Yuuri says, “Right side. He’s going to begin radiation therapy and… god, he’s so strong and just…” Yuuri pauses his rambling to compose himself, batting eyelids as he suppresses the tears. “We don’t know how long… w-we don’t find out… In a couple weeks they say. That’s when we’ll know if it works.”

“It’ll have to.” Otabek demands, more than says. “This fucking shit isn’t going to… Cancer isn’t what steal Yuri Plisetsky from the ice, it just isn’t.”

Yuuri cracks a watery smile, nose sniffling as he steps aside to grasp at the door handle. “You sound a lot like Yura you know.” He mumbles, “Cancer isn’t going to take him. It won’t.”

They slowly enter the isolated room, disinfecting hands and draping themselves in unfashionable scrubs. They aren’t tiger print as Yuri had hoped, but at least he can make fun of Viktor for living in a trash bag.

His immune system is weak, or so Yuuri explains as they snap the plastic sheets to their bodies. It’s not so much that the cancer is contagious, because that'd be ridiculous, but they don’t want to accidentally transmit any pathogens likely to cause an illness.

They pass through the second door, breaking away from the small separating room from hospital to Yuri, and the stronger, more sickening smell of chemical hits his nose harder than Otabek had anticipated for.

Yuri is awake, or so it seems, sitting upright and mumbling to Viktor who’s busy stacking cards on the small table leaning over the bed. Yuri blows on them gently, unlike what he would have done had he been anywhere else, but the results are all the same; a pout from the silver-haired man and a victorious grin on the boy, laughing at the effort made undone.

Their eyes meet the second Yuuri shuts the door closed with a soft click and Yuri’s eyes widen with delight before frowning. “Beka! What the fuck? You’re supposed to be training!” Viktor swipes at the playing cards silently, stuffing them back into the paper packaging they’d come from.

“I’m so sorry your highness, was it so wrong of me to visit my friend?” Otabek quips, a familiar smile on his lips. He can tell Yuri appreciates the normality in Otabek’s presence, hastily gesturing for him to come closer. Viktor steps away, just as silently to return to his husband’s side.

“You really shouldn’t be here.” Yuri reprimands.

“Well, I won’t lie, I’m worried about you.” He begins, watching as Yuri begins to protest, “But not just that. It feels wrong. Two of the greatest skaters drop out and I get in because of that.” He shakes his head. “I seem to recall someone telling me that it’s not a true win if you don’t earn it.”

Yuri can’t rebuttal against that, he had been that specific ‘someone’ Otabek was referring too. “So what, you’re gonna flub the Grand Prix?” He asks instead, bewildered and slightly pissed off.

“The Grand Prix isn’t running anymore.” Otabek explains, earning a surprised gasp from Yuuri and a flabbergasted expression from Yuri. He doesn’t know how Viktor reacted, he can’t see him from where he sits beside Yuri, and the silence does nothing to clue him in either.

“What the fuck Beka?!” Yuri almost shouts.

“Phichit-kun wasn’t joking.” Yuuri realises, face slacking as he recalls his Thai friend. “He said he dropped out and that everyone else did too when they found out that Yuri was admitted here for an undetermined amount of time. I thought he was just trying to make us feel better but—”

“But what?” Yuri cuts in, incredulous expression plastered to his face, “Why would he make up something that big?” His voice turns unnaturally softer. “I didn’t think it’d be such a big deal anyways…”

“Well, they want to honour your beliefs, as I said.” Otabek sighes, he remembers the rather vague statement that Viktor had released to the press, clearly unhappy that such a personal matter would have to be brought to strangers who had no say. He realises that Viktor hadn’t spoken out of necessity since.

“Well that’s just stupid.” Yuri rolls his eyes, a nurse entering to announce that his doctor would arrive shortly to explain something about the radiation therapy. He pays her no mind, letting Viktor and Yuuri discuss the matter with her as he turns to Otabek seriously. “I’m gonna get out of this shit hole and go back on the ice.” He promises, “And then they’ll be sorry they didn’t take the chance to taste the gold for even a second.”

* * *

The room is deathly silent when he’s the only one there, but that’s to be expected when he’d so much as threatened to rip every tube out of himself if his coaches and friend didn’t retire to their own rooms at night. 

Honestly, he wasn’t a petulant child, he knew how to ring a button to call for help, he knew when his limits were and how he felt. Expressing them may definitely be a completely different story, but he isn’t  _ weak. _

His bedridden state does say otherwise.

He sighs, and the movement  _ hurts _ as his chest rises and then falls. The doctors said that the surgery had been a massive success, or at least successful enough that there were no complications where they’d have to sever a limb or something. He groans, shifting as he adjusts his weight on the thin mattress.

He misses his own, quality bedding, and for a moment he snorts, reminding himself astonishingly of Viktor. Viktor who had not muttered a single word to him since the arranged press conference.

Viktor who had indeed,  _ shut the hell up _ — just as he had wished so weeks ago.

God. Be careful what you wish for, most certainly. 

He blinks, pushing tears down as harshly as he can before cursing an eyelash that falls. He picks at it, rubbing it between forefinger and thumb among the darkness of his room, feelings the odd texture on his skin.  _ My god  _ — he thinks bittersweetly, an ironic realisation dawning upon him —  _ I’ll be going bald before the old man. _

He flicks the eyelash away, letting it land somewhere, probably his pillow for all he cares, and tries to find a comfortable position to relax in. As the steady beep of the heart monitor and the other obnoxious machines surrounding and plugged into him carry on, he thinks to himself that he doesn’t need wishes; everything is going to be perfectly fine.   
  
  


* * *

Yuuri gently brushes his hair, careful not to tug at a single strand, like fine gold that were capable of snapping. It’s tucked delicately behind his ear, clearing his vision from his right eye and he blinks, suddenly filtering more light and more colour than he’d done so before.

It was only Yuuri here today, Viktor and Otabek having gone off to discuss other matters with the hospital staff about Yuri’s indefinite stay.

Yuri doesn’t like to think about the time he’ll spend here, he doesn’t want to think about the chance that, despite how determined he is to return, he may not be able to see the ice again. He squirms in the bed in annoyance, butt numb from the amount of time he’d sat there. 

There’s an odd ache in his muscles from disuse, and when he’d tried to stand up to test his own strength he’d been thoroughly surprised at how quickly his strength had diminished.

“I brought Monopoly if you want to play.” Yuuri offers, a minute of humming passes as he pulls up a plastic bag. Inside it, several board games jutter. “I also have  _ Scrabble, Mastermind, Connect-4, Battleships, Operation and Hungry Hungry Hippos _ .” The boxes pile onto the small table at Yuri’s hand. His laptop and other devices had been placed at the bedside drawer, reserved for when he was alone and unmotivated.

He stares at the children's toys before shrugging, eyes curiousy peering at the colourful packaging. “They all sound like a four year old naming things off the top of their head.” he snorts, hands grabbing for the  _ Operation _ box. 

Yuuri stills, mouth agape, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing from the blonde’s mouth. “Yura, you’re telling me you’ve never heard of  _ any _ of these?” 

“Well yeah _ Monopoly _ and shit.” Yuri shrugs, “And  _ Connect-4 _ is that dumb naughts and crosses type shit like  _ Battleships _ isn’t it? And we have _ Scrabble  _ but like, Russian. The rest sound absolutely stupid. What the fuck is a  _ Hungry Hungry Hippo _ anyway?”

“You feed your Hippo pellets and the person with the most wins.” Yuuri says, very seriously. “When the others come back we shall play, but in the meantime — I happen to be a pro at  _ Operation. _ ”

“Well I challenge you to this stupid game then.” Yuri declares, pulling the lid off of the box. He takes the game out and flips it around, spilling pieces around the table. “The fuck?”

“We take it in turns to remove the pieces from the board, don’t touch the walls or the buzzer sets off.” Yuuri explains, gently switching the game on. The pieces are returned to their respective slots and Yuri watches intently as Yuuri tries to pick something with the weird tweezers. The board eventually buzzes, a red light flashing as he brushes the wall, and then Yuri finds himself trying to pick out a random game piece.

“This really doesn’t capture an operation realistically.” He says seriously, triumphantly pulling the piece out. “There’s a lot more pain than this fucker has to deal with. And besides, how the fuck did he get a tiny horse in his body huh? Why the fuck this fucker got a tiny horse?”

“It’s a game Yura.” Yuuri reminds him, choosing to ignore the blatant remark about surgery. He tries again, grabbing another piece before dropping it back into the slot. “Damn, I’m out of practice.”

“Look, I’ll get the stupid horse.” Yuri mutters, growing silent with concentration. He doesn’t notice Viktor and Otabek’s return until he’d successfully pulled the plastic critter free. “See! I got the tiny horse!”

“What even is that?” Otabek voices, drawing their attention to his presence.

“Beka!” Yuri exclaims, waving the plastic figure. “We’re playing stupid children games and I got the tiny horse form this dumb guy’s body.” He seemed oddly excited about the retrieval of a tiny plastic toy horse, but no one makes any comment on the bizarreness of it all. Viktor offered a soft smile from where he stood, bags filled with Yuri’s personal toiletries in hand.

“Oh, now we have to play  _ Hungry Hungry Hippos  _ or whatever that shit is.” Yuri reminds himself, hand scratching at his head. He feels a few too many hairs for his liking fall away with his fingers, but he makes no comment on it as he wipes them away discreetly.

The board game comes out, the pieces set up and the loud ruckes of four people slapping plastic feverishly in order to capture plastic balls echo around them. It’s hectic, and crazy and as chaotic as Yuri feels internally, but he’s just happy there’s an outlet for the yelling he’s been suppressing inside.

  
  


* * *

  
  


It’s strange to see eyebrow hairs fall occasionally, decorating his cheeks as he wipes at the littered gold. His hair is tied up in a loose ponytail, hiding the true number of locks that escape everyday. He can still feel it thinning despite keeping it out of sight and thus, theoretically out of mind, granting Viktor’s worst nightmare come true.

The hospital here isn’t so bad either, the nurses are relatively understanding and don’t try to treat him like glass. Yuri doesn’t mind it when Viktor or Yuuri occasionally slip up— he’ll forgive them and continue to put up with their presence— he’s coexisted with them for a long time now anyway. But the hospital  _ know _ , and they know  _ him _ , in a way only a stranger could perfectly know.

Mondays are movie days, and the weekday nurse greets him, stays to ask about his week, Otabek, Yuuri and Viktor, his skating, his interest, and then brings a bunch of movies from the hospital collection for him and only him to watch.

Tuesdays are the best days, where the children’s club spend a day outside in the hospital playground — they bring over the Playstation 4 and let him have it for the whole day, sharing it with whoever visits him and whoever wishes to play in the hospital.

Wednesday are also good days; the therapy dogs arrive, and although his immune system is still weak and he’d much prefer cats, he’s delighted to know that he’s been given the okay to still pet soft, furry companions. That eventually changes one day when Viktor reveals that he’d brought Makkachin  _ and _ Potya, his cat, and so the feline makes herself a home within the room.

Thursdays are probably his least favourite, because those are the days where the religious figures of the hospital church visit, sometimes disturbing him no matter how many times he claims he doesn’t want to “seek peace within the holy spirit”. He’ll chug the shot of wine and chew on the bland wafer, and offend every catholic to bare witness to it, but Yuri doesn’t  _ need _ their pity — he’s going to be fine.

Fridays are group gathering days. Where more than just Viktor, Yuuri and Otabek visit him. The don’t see him everyday unfortunately, and he understands this as they have their own lives and jobs to carry out, but they sure try to and it creates a deep ache in his heart for their efforts. But Fridays are non negotiable. Fridays mean  _ everyone _ visit, no matter how loud and crowded it gets or how pissed off the hospital staff pretend not to be. Fridays mean Mila, and Georgi, Yakov, Lilia, Phichit, Chris, somehow  _ every skater ever  _ and his grandfather.

His grandfather is never angry or upset, he treats Yuri carefully but no more differently than before. He claims he knows that Yuri will be okay and push past this, he claims he knows that his grandson is strong.

Yuri sometimes can’t help but wonder if he’ll end up dying before his own grandfather.

Saturdays are another lazy day, Viktor, Yuuri and Otabek still by his side, opting to play video games together on their laptops they drag with them. Minecraft has become a new favourite, a game Yuuri can’t believe no one has ever played. Yuri is proud of Otabek and his’ underground house, and is flabbergasted by the mansion Yuuri manages to erect within 2 hours of game play. 

Viktor often struggles, shot at by mobs and left on low health. He doesn’t ever ask for help though, it’s almost as if he’s forgotten his voice.

On Sunday, they sit together and they talk like families do. Yuri likes these days because the talking helps alleviate fears and tension built up in everyone, himself included. He never thought he’d become so open before. 

Once more, Viktor stays silent, merely communicating with body language and facial expressions. Not even yelling was enough to make him go verbal.

And so the routine repeats, like his training schedule except not, and as he wakes up, falls asleep and fingers fiddling with hair, he counts as each strand falls.   
  
  


* * *

Two months is a long time for someone so active to remain so unproductive. Two months is a long time for pent up energy to be left to itself. It’s frustrating and aggravating, and downright  _ annoying _ . Energy never disappears, it simply transforms into another state.

So yes, the anger in his body needs to go  _ out _ , it needs to go  _ somewhere _ , an internalised pressure must be transferred to another form. It’s only a shame that tugging at the roots on his head is his release, and he doesn’t realise what he’s doing until he feels his fingers slip away.

He feels the need to sob, and so sobbing is what he does. Tomorrow he’d be getting a haircut, before everything became worse and leave him haggard and feeling ugly. They were planning to buzz cut it all off, and Yuri could only agree with a pout.

The tears that stream down his face gather more eyelashes. They’re already naturally fine, so he’s not scared to miss those, but the gathering of six of them, splattered across his tear soaked left hand is enough to make him feel hurt all over again.

“Oh, eyelashes.” The weekend nurse nays, entering the room with his lunch. The hospital food isn’t so terrible in his opinion, people were just incredibly picky. Or perhaps losing the sensation of taste was the culprit. “You can make a wish on those.” The woman says, smiling as she gathers the chart at the foot of his bed.

“Yeah.” Yuri mumbes, frowning. “Wishes…”   
  
  


* * *

It’s a cruel joke that the world plays on them. Transforming delight to utter hell within an hour. There’s always someone to blame even when there’s nothing but chance at play, but Yuuri pins it against the deities from above. “They say that the radiation therapy is working!” he announces one day, running into Viktor’s arms with a scream. There are tears cascading down his face as Otabek bursts from Yuri’s bedroom.

“It’s working?!” He nearly shouts, catching the couple off guard. It was late, almost 1 in the morning, but he hadn’t any care for the neighbours. “Oh my god… It’s working.”

“H-how much longer will he…” Viktor mumbles, voice scratchy and gravelly. His eyes are blown wide, blue reflecting the living room light brilliantly. Yuuri cups his face hastily and smashes his mouth against his.

“Another 3 weeks.” He says, pecking chapped lips over and over again. Each kiss is filled with desperation and a surge of emotion he’s been thrown into for the better half of 3 and a half months and he doesn’t stop as Viktor scoops him up into his arms.

“Oh my god, oh my god.” Viktor chants, squeezing his husband impossibly closer to his frame. Otabek smiles slightly from the side, relief washing over him as he sighs. “Yura is getting better! Yura is getting better, holy fucking shit!  _ Yura is getting better! _ ”   
  
  


* * *

Yuri is getting better and he can feel it in his bones. The ache from surgery has now faded immensely, the old ache from before leaving. He’s been up and about, walking and moving to do things on his own and he feels  _ free _ — more free than the ice ever made him feel.

There’s always  _ someone _ crying from sheer shock. The first time it’d been Viktor, finally  _ screaming and talking _ about how scared he’d been and how thankful he now was. Yuri hadn’t stopped the smothering of affection, he’d simply allowed himself to be held as Yuuri took his turn crying, praying to  _ someone _ in thanks for the miracle.

Otabek had cried much later, when they were alone for a moment, and both had been found later, eyes bawling. Friday was the release day, the day everyone normally visited, and that would be when they’d announce the news.

The doctors and the nurses had been incredibly happy with his recovery, after the wobbly treatments and the unstable conditions he’d  _ finally _ been put in the all clear. He didn’t have a roommate, but he’d been moved to an open ward, no longer needing the so delicate isolation.

It felt wonderful, to be able to say that such things were happening, and he knew that if he could overcome this, then he’d overcome anything. “I told you.” He’d said, the Thursday before freedom, the Thursday before the rest of their family and friends would share the good news, “I told you cancer wasn’t gonna fuck with me. You guys need to have faith, Jesus.”

“Don’t say the lord’s name in vain Yura.” Viktor playfully scolds him, before Yuuri could beat him to it. Yuri merely rolls his eyes and gets up to go the bathroom, bare feet touching the cool tiles. He knows he’s supposed to wear socks with some grippy thing on the soles, but Yuri couldn’t care less about animal print-less forms of attire.

He couldn’t wait to go home and get some  _ actual  _ decent clothes.

* * *

Yuri  _ doesn’t _ get to wear decent clothes.

Yuri would  _ not _ be leaving the hospital that Friday.

Yuri wouldn’t be leaving the hospital  _ ever. _

  
  


* * *

  
  


Yuuri tries to figure it out, make logic of such a problem but there is none, there can’t be, because Yuri is  _ gone _ and there’s no coming back. He asks questions, he  _ demands _ answers, he’s the only one kicking and screaming and  _ struggling _ as Viktor pulls him towards his warm,  _ alive _ body.

“LET ME FUCKING GO!” Yuuri screams, trying and failing to pry his husband’s arms from around him. Everyone looks, tears, sobs, and red, blotchy faces. It’s as if Yuri had possessed the Japanese man at his final parting. “VIKTOR LET ME FUCKING GO!”

“Yuuri, Yuuri p-please. C-calm down okay?” Viktor tries, choking his own sobs as the nurses hurry to move Yuri out of the room.

“DON’T FUCKING TOUCH HIM!” Yuuri’s voice cracks, rasping as Otabek joins his other side. Together, he and Viktor help move Yuuri to a chair, forcing him down and trying to calm him as the nurses carry on. “DON’T TOUCH YURA! FUCKING BITCHES! L— LET ME! FU— FUCKING HELL!”

There are no answers for the demands, because it simply is as it is. An undetected slip up, something no one ever gets the full explanation for as Yuuri’s yells drown out the doctor. It’s only as the sheets and the curtains pull around the frail body that Yuuri stops and collapses.

_ It’s over. _

* * *

  
  


They’re allowed some time with Yuri before everyone else, a grace period his grandfather gives them before the service. “You were both so good to him.” Nikolai smiles sadly, not a tear staining his face. It would be surprising considering the closeness of their relationship, but the somewhat morbid yet bittersweet deal that he was to join his grandson soon was somewhat of a comforting explanation. “That boy truly loved you, still does I'm sure.” He places a hand on both of their shoulders, a sign he would take his leave soon so that they could have their own private moment. “I’ve known Yura since he was an infant.” Nikolai recalls, “And never have I seen him happier than when he’d found a family with you.”

The church is empty bar the three of them, and soon, with the heavy echo of the entrance door, it becomes two. There are no candles, there are no religious monuments, this church is devoid of all things considered holy for the sake that the Japanese are not traditionally western.

Somehow Yuri doesn’t look as broken as he’d been in the hospital, which makes Yuuri laugh watery laughs, as he blinks feverishly. He’s still cold to the touch, the only true proof that he wasn't sleeping so peacefully, and Yuuri wracks out another sob before curling into his husband’s chest.

“I-it’s not fair…” He whispers, sniffling as he cries, “I-IT’S NOT!” The shout echoes, surely travelling through walls and reaching the other few guests’ ears. Yuuri doesn’t care, still sobbing as he clings on tighter to Viktor’s clothes. His head pounds with the beat of his heart as his crying goes on, like a trigger, startling tears from Viktor’s own eyes.

“I-it isn’t.” He agrees, untrusting towards his own voice. A gentle hand brushes against the boy’s cheek, supplying warmth to the cold. “Oh god, I just… I-I w-want to wake up from this— this nightmare! I-i’m begging…” He grits his teeth an arm wrapping Yuuri closer to his form. The look down at the boy, eyes streaming with sorrow.

Yuri doesn’t move, Yuri can’t, he remains still, not able to offer comfort to the two at his side. He’s dressed nicely, they refused to let the morticians decorate him in anything fake or un-Yuri like. So he wears the beautiful white  _ Agape _ costume, framing the innocence of youth that had been stolen; in hopes that their own  _ Agape _ could stay with him when they couldn’t follow.

“W-we’ll miss you Yura.” Yuuri bites on his lip, blood drawing from the pressure. “W-we’ll miss you so  _ much _ ... _ oh god _ …” He grips the frail hand and presses a feather light kiss to the skin as Viktor leans down and kisses his forehead, sniffing as both he and his husband part. A final kiss for goodbye.

“ _ Dasvidaniya  _ Yura… u-until we meet again.” Viktor chokes, stepping back to gaze at the boy. Yuuri stands beside him, form shaking as he tries and fails to clear his nose with an intake of breath. 

They both stand, stark against the background; neither man wearing a suit like the other guests. Yuuri clings to Viktor’s sleeve, the  _ Stammi Vicino Non te ne Andare  _ costume decorating his figure. It’s a symbolic choice, with the meaning of the costume to both men being extended to the boy. Yuuri plays with the hem of his own, matching in blue costume. They take each other’s hand, squeezing tightly as their mourning quietens.

Their time for eternity is up.

Later, when they sit in the front row of the service, they do not let go of each other’s hand or spare a second from staring at the casket. Voices drone on, echoes reverberate, and the strangely westernised, Japanese and Russian mix of a funeral continues.

“It’s a joke that runs between us three.” Viktor says, a pause left for him to breathe, “Or… I suppose it  _ was _ a joke, that ran between us. To him, Y-yuri, I was an ‘old man’, frail and withered for every skating injury I earned, complete with greying hair.

The joke always went the same way. It was going to be me that Yuri would have to put up with in the end, because an Old Man and his husband can only do so much when they’re 90.” His hands clench around the wrinkled paper, Yuuri squeezing his arm just as tight. The words smear and splatter with the tears that run down Viktor’s face.

“We never… w-we never pictured that one d-day… t-that, that one… that…”

“That o-one day, it’d be the entire opposite.” Yuuri carries on. His smile is watery and more tears cascade down his face, but he continues as if he barely realises. “I met Yuri a few years ago, and he… he wasn’t what I think I had been expecting. Yuri is loud,  _ was  _ loud. Yuri c-could get agitated, and the language he used w-was so col-colourful I could paint a universe…

I th-think that’s why he was such a g-go-ood friend. He wasn’t afraid to be honest. He wasn’t afraid to speak up; when I was at the lowest point in my life, Yuri had literally bur-burst through the toilet stall I had been hiding in and gave me a challenge to rise up to. H-h-he’d always say “I’m going to beat you Katsudon”, that’s what he’d call me, and all this time I’d naively believed he’d been chasing after the achievements on my belt.

In the end I suppose it has been  _ me _ trying to reach him. Yuri was an amazing skater, and amazing boy, someone V-viktor and I considered family. H-he often played into that, the joke that we’d share. He’d call Viktor old and then squabble as Viktor pretended to play family and t-tease.”

“We… w-we pretended a lot.” Viktor cuts in, eyes swollen and red as he sniffs rather loudly into the microphone. “We made it a game to see who could convert Yuri into our child the quickest, because in the end, he’d come live with us and was just so important… I suppose our play pretend had eventually fallen into an actual routine, w-which makes it all the more harder right now to — to, to say good-g-goodbye…

The past few weeks… m-months, have been the most difficult ones I can ever re-recall… and despite that, during this time, Yuri was  _ so, so  _ positive it’d be okay. “I’m gonna be fine Old Man”, he’d say, “I don’t need luck or stupid eyelashes to make wishes.”... I wish I was as confident as him.

But, if-if there’s something th-that anyone cou-ould learn from such a… such— such a brave boy… It’s that in the face of the unknown… o-or danger, you still rise to it and give it your all.” Viktor nods his head, turning to face the pale child directly, eyes wide and glossy. 

“B-but we know that we can’t stay here forever… I’d imagine you’d be rolling in your grave right now… or, casket I suppose, screaming at us to ‘get on with such a long and boring speech’. Maybe you’d protest at us telling you we love you, that yeah, you kinda are like a son to us, a son and a good— no, best friend. I won’t know though… I can only assume and as you’ve said countless times 'assuming makes an ass out of you and me’...” He laughs airily but doesn’t continue to speak, instead staring for what can only be the last time at a porcelain face.

“We don’t want to say goodbye…” Yuuri finally says, he too looking at the casket, “Goodbye means going away… and, a-and going away means forgetting. Viktor and I don’t want to ever forget you Yurotchka, we l-love you. We love you so v-very much a-and... it hurts. It h-hurts to know that a part of our lives’ stories have ended here.

Sometimes I think, ‘How lucky am I, how lucky are we, to have known someone who was so hard to part from?’

So… so um, i-instead of goodbye, I-I’ll say see you later. Okay Yura? A-and by saying these things, know that ‘see you later’s are not forever, they are not the end; it simply means I’ll miss you… I’ll really, really miss yo-you, oh god... Y-yura... until we meet again.”

* * *

His body felt heavy, like there was a ton of bricks weighing down on his limbs, pinning him to the cushiony surface. The air was freezing cold, stinging his skin as he slowly lifted his eyelids to try and gauge where he was.

“I’m dead… aren’t I?” Yuri had whispered aloud, blindly searching amongst the darkness that he’d been swimming in. “Oh god, have I been buried alive?” He bolted upright and felt the available space. There were no restrictions on his movements, the newfound strength kept him upwards. Yuri was, thankfully, not dead and not buried alive.

“Yuri?” Another voice called out, a familiar tune amongst the static silence. Then he could hear heavy breathing, and thick footsteps, and suddenly light flooded his vision like a waterfall. “Yuri! Y-you’re awake!”

“Beka?” Yuri blinked, eyes adjusting to the harsh hospital lights. He wiggled his feet weakly, testing the strength that remained and rubbed a hand at his eyes, perhaps irritating them as he yawned. It didn’t matter so much, he’d been too tired to care. “W-where’s the Old Man? Katsudon?”

Never had he heard his voice sound so small before, but he tried to ignore it in favour of listening to his friend. “They’ve gone to get a change of clothes and went home. I told them to, they were exhausted.” Otabek explained slowly.

“Damn right they should.” Yuri nodded in agreement, “They’re gonna work themselves to death if they don’t start smartening up. Jesus Christ I’m  _ fine _ .”

“Yuri.” Otabek sighed, but it hadn’t sounded like he had the heart to protest, “You need to understand that they’d been hopeful… you were almost home and then… Just, don’t be too harsh on them alright?”

Yuri didn’t respond, remaining silent as he scratched at his cheek. His fingers pulled away to leave a litter of eyelashes on his nails, blonde and thinner than usual. Their shortness was only a reminder that there were bound to be none left. 

Stupid. That’s what this all was; stupid. Lashes never made wishes, wishes don’t come true. He’d probably lost hundreds in his stay at the hospital and not a single thing had ever changed. It was almost foolish to have lost hope in such thing, but he could almost understand Viktor and Yuuri if just a little bit.

With a glare at the small strands of hair, Yuri had wiped away the tears that had yet to be shed, stifling a sob in the depths of his stomach.

* * *

A nurse walks over to them as Viktor discusses something with Yuri’s doctor, voice hushed and left secretive; Yuuri isn’t impatient, he’ll ask about it later. “I’m sorry for your loss.” She starts solemnly, but it’s hard to tell nowadays if people are being sincere or just don’t know what to say. Yuuri’s taken to assume the later and says nothing else. “I have the belongings here.” The nurse continues to hold up a plastic bag filled with various items that belonged to Yuri. It’s impersonal, the way they’re carelessly thrown into a labelless bag.

Yuuri glares at her, knowing it isn’t her fault, and snatches it, turning away sharply as he hurries towards Viktor and Otabek. “Vitya I’m going to the car.” He mumbles quietly, head ducked and plastic bag crinkling in grasp. His face doesn’t need to be visible in order for the others present to recognise his discomfort, and Viktor merely nods, squeezing his shoulder as he lets him go.

* * *

<strike> _ I’m not sentimental. I’m doing this because I know that you guys are probably gonna be depressed as fucking shit. _ </strike>

<strike> _ You’re right. There, I admit it. You knew it was the end for me while I naively thought I was gonna live. _ </strike>

<strike> _ I’m not very good at goodbyes.  _ </strike>

<strike> _ I don’t think I’ve ever thought that I’d end up writing something so sappy before — don’t expect me to keep up this gross shit. _ </strike>

<strike> _ I’m scared okay?  _ </strike>

<strike> _ Okay, I need to write something actually meaningful and shit… something to remember me by or whatever, something hella important. These are supposed to be my dying words or whatever. _ </strike>

<strike> _ You know what? Fuck this. I’ve pretty much crossed every sentence out and all that you CAN read is my depressed ass shit. _ </strike>

<strike> _ Did you know that for the life of me, that stupid thing about eyelashes managed to stick with me? _ </strike>

<strike> _ Nope, just be simple and cut to the point. _ </strike>

<strike> _ I want you to know that this is probably incredibly morbid but there’s a reason for this, like there is to everything I do. I’d give you a nicer box or whatever, but the nurses at the stupid hospital wouldn’t let me. “Hygiene” and whatever. _ _ _ </strike>

<strike> _ For every eyelash I lost, I wished that the pain of my absence would only intensify, never to heal.  _ </strike>

<strike> _ Supposedly telling others your wish won’t let it come true, so there, now that I’ve told you my wish, it won’t happen. _ </strike>

<strike> _ I have another, but that one I won’t say, I think I’ll hope for once that this one comes true _ _ . _ </strike>

You told me once that if you blow on an eyelash you could make a wish, and I naively believed that the whole idea was stupid.

Not a single one came true at first. I wasn’t getting better, I wasn’t getting stronger, I didn’t understand why it, when I already knew it wouldn’t, wasn’t working. But then you’d explained that if I’d told someone what my wish was, it wouldn’t happen.

I eventually gave up wishing for myself, began looking at other more tangible things because I suppose even faith can’t do the impossible, and so I’ve made a wish this time, with the rest of the eyelashes I have and I’m not telling you what it is.

I truly wish that there could have been more time, but I’ve run out of eyelashes now so I guess there’s nothing more I can hope for.

For all it’s worth, thanks for fighting with me.

— With love, Yuri Plisetsky

**Author's Note:**

> *ahh.... hugs*
> 
> Thank you for reading all of that, It means a lot to me. 
> 
> If you are or know someone going through something, I wish you the best, stay strong, and I know that my words perhaps mean very little, I'm not the best at comfort, but I am rooting for you!


End file.
